


I'd Be Lost Without My Lover

by RLMoran



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Cute, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mild Smut, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 22,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RLMoran/pseuds/RLMoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!lock Johnlock fabric<br/>-<br/>After John's sister moved out his parents decided it was time to move into the city. The Watson's move into 221C Baker St and what John finds in the flat above changes his life in ways he could have never imagined.</p><p>(There is an OC, Cassandra obviously, who originated from a Moriarty x Reader fic. I kind of just have her in them all now. This one and a Sherlock x Reader fic I am also writing. I apologize if this bothers you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Odd Young Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Brief moments and reference to child abuse. Just a warning.

John groaned as he set down the last box in, what was soon to be, his bedroom. 

His family had just moved into 221C, a flat in the heart of London. It was a nice little flat with white walls and hardwood floors. 

He did not particularly agree with his families decision to move, but after his sister moved out his mother decided it would be best to move out of such a huge house in the country side and closer to the city. He did not expect to be this close.

It was dinner time and the Watson family had sat down at the table after a hard long day of unpacking and situating rooms and furniture. All was silent as the family practically inhaled their food, exhausted and sore. They all went still when a loud crashing noise eminated from above.

"What was that?" John's mother questioned in a worried tone.

The three of them made their way out to the bottom of the stairs that led to the next flat. Step by careful step John led the group up to the next flat. Upon opening the door the family was greeted by the sight of a tall lanky boy. His skin was pale as snow and he brushed back his auburn curls with boney fingers, pricked with specks of blood.

"Sorry to have disturbed your dinner," he stated in a monotone voice without even turning to notice who he had bothered. "I was simply trying to test a theory but I accidentaly dropped a test tube."

John's parents were at a loss for words.

"Where are you parents?"

The young boy looked as if the question was highly insane.

"Not here."

"Siblings?"

"Come around when they feel inclined to. Like right now."

As if on cue a young girl entered the flat, about John's height. Her eyes were pale and empty compared to the oceans that lie in the boys socket. Her hair only chin lengths. She froze after almost bumping into the little group.

"I apologize I was just delivering some supplies to my older brother," she mumbled, her voice smooth like silk. She quickly approached the boy, handing him a plastic bag and before she could rush off, John's mother place her hand tightly on her shoulder.

"Excuse me but what is this?"

The girl must have sensed the panic in her voice due to the sudden softening in her face.

"Well my named is Cassandra - Moran Holmes. This is my older brother William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

John repressed a laugh as a smile crossed Cassandra's face at the glare she recieved from her brother.

"Ok well it's nice to meet you," the mother stated quickly. "But he lives. . .Alone?"

Cassandra nodded ever so slowly as if it was odd to ask if young children lived alone. 

"He is sixteen. That's normal. Our eldest brother moved out when he was fifteen. I'm planning to leave home soon as well."

The look on the families face was of pure shock as the two Holmes siblings stood there as if their situation was perfectly natural.

"Well," Cassandra began awkwardly. "I best be off. I've got a cab waiting. Remember Sherlock if you need me I'm just a phone call away."

"I don't need you you monster," Sherlock snapped under his breath.

Cassandra's face broke. Tears threatening her eyes as her face returned to it's sharp cold state as she left the flat.

"Well it was nice meeting you all, but thanks to my sister I have an experiment to return to." And with those last words Sherlock shut the door directly in John's face.

"What a queer little boy."

"Maybe that is why he is no longer with his family."

"Maybe he's dangerous."

John stood, frozen at the door as his parents descended the stairs, listening to their discussion of the odd boy known as Sherlock Holmes.

"I know he seems a bit off dear."

John twitched in shock as he came face to face with the land lady.

"But I promise he is a good enough person once you get to know him."

He only returned her statement with a nod before rushing down the stairs and making his way to his bedroom.

John slowly changed out of his clothes, pulling on a pair of soft fleece trousers before laying in bed.

He could hear the soft graceful footsteps of Sherlock pacing in the flat above him. John had to admit that he was an odd boy but he was highly interested in finding out more about him.


	2. Arrogance

With a groan John sat up in his bed, totally exhausted. He had been kept up by the thought of the odd boy, Sherlock Holmes, that lived above his family. Sherlock's constant pacing did not help when he tried taking his mind off the thought.

John dragged his exhausted body out to the kitchen, suprised to find it empty. There was a note on the table under a small, multicolored glass paper weight.

'Went out to run a few errands. We will not be home till late though. Try making friends with the boy upstairs. If you need anything the land lady said she'd be around all day.

Love mum & dad'

With a screech John slumped into one of the metal chairs, determining how he would approach the boy, or if he should even try.

He put off the notion, telling himself he would make an attempt later.

Later came sooner than he hoped. After cleaning up and getting ready for whatever may lie ahead that day, John found himself incredibly bored. There was nothing on the telly and the box with all of his books was no where to be found. So in a fit of frustration he made his way to ascend the stairs.

He entered 221B, finding it, what he thought to be, empty, but he was suddenly startled when the lanky boy jumped out from the kitchen.

"Oh," Sherlock sighed. "It's just you. I thought you were one of my dasterdly siblings."

John watched, still regaining himself, as Sherlock slumped down into a chair, looking over a book before throwing it at the wall.

"I uh," John didn't know where to begin. Sherlock's piercing eyes offset him in such a way that he did not know how to act. "I decided to come and introduce myself. My names John Watson."

He stood in silence as Sherlock didn't even seem to acknowledge him or care. After contemplating many ways of casually leaving like he had never been there in the first place, John was startled when he found Sherlock was only about a foot away.

"Sherlock Holmes," he stated in a monotone voice. John looked to Sherlock's hand which was outstretched before him before finally shaking it.

"Sorry if I kept you awake last night."

John watched him for a moment as he walked to the window, quite confused for a moment when he remembered how exhausted he was.

"Oh. That," he began," Do you ever sleep? You must be tired."

Picking of the bow of his violin Sherlock scratched the back of his head before turning to John. "I don't sleep when I'm thinking. I don't want to forget it therefor I choose not to sleep."

John licked his lips quite unsure of what to think.

"So you are a sixteen year old boy that lives alone and does not sleep unless he finds it necessary?"

"Yes."

"Do you eat?"

"Only when I think it will not hinder brain work."

This boy appeared very strange. He appeared healthy despite the fact of his frail appearance and pale complexion. His intelligence seemed rather normal yet he also had the air of being more than just of normal intelligence.

John flinched as Sherlock let out a loud groan, his eyes glaring daggers over John's shoulder. He quickly turned and found the girl from the night before, Sherlock's sister Cassandra he recalled, standing directly behind him, yet again with shopping bags.

"Sorry was I in your way?" John asked quickly moving to give her better access into the flat.

"No, no not at all," she smiled warmly,"I was just bringing things to get dinner set up. It isn't exactly my brothers thing."

"Dinner?"

Casandra just nodded, placing the bags on the table.

"My family insists that we need to try and keep. . .Family values." Sherlock uttered the last two words like they were poison in his mouth. "Mummy begged me to get dinner ready for the family. My annoying sister here is saving my arse."

"Making dinner is to much of a challenge for my sixteen year old psycopath of a brother. So it makes more sense for the fourteen year old to do it."

"Sociopath," Sherlock retorted. His voice filled with frustration. "High. Functioning. Sociopath. How hard is that to remember?"

John couldn't help but smile as Cassandra repressed a slight giggle.

"You'll have to excuse him," she said to John apologetically.

He just nodded and before he could reply he lost all train of thought as Sherlock's eyes angrily danced over his sister.

"You aren't sleeping or eating again. You are not wearing any makeup, means you have been crying. Maybe due to nightmares. Again? Really? You were seven when that happened and here you are still crying. Oh how sentiment breaks people. Now just both of you shut up. I'm trying to think and every meaningless word you utter downs my IQ."

To John Sherlock's words seemed like poison darts that could shatter one's very core, but when he turned to Cassandra he saw her facial expression showed as if she was unphased. Like she was used to it.

"So John," she finally said, gaining a hateful look from her brother. "Even though my brother is an arrogant saud I was wondering if you would like to stay for dinner."

She giggled at an express of worry flowed into John's eyes.

"Don't worry. The Holmes family isn't all like that. Our mummy an daddy are great. Mycroft isn't much better than Sherlock though."

"What about you?"

She just smiled as she began to prepare the food.

"You'll just find out for yourself."

John knew it was in his best interest to leave but his curiosity got the better of him. This odd little family. He had only met the two youngest and he felt as if they were psycopathic, but he remembered Sherlock's exasperation about being a sociopath. It was settled.

"Sure." And with that John had just agreed to what would be the most insane night he had ever experienced.


	3. Dinner

John soon discovered that he had bit off more than he could chew. At first when the rest of the Holmes family arrived all seemed well. Mr and Mrs Holmes were kind enough, but soon he discovered the childish rivalry between the three siblings.

Mrs Holmes had taken over the dinner preperations with Mr Holmes by her side. Cassandra was silently reading on the couch while Sherlock and the eldest Holmes child, Mycroft, argued, both sitting in chairs opposite eachother.

"Oh please Sherlock, waisting your time on such pointless experiments."

"Like you would know," Sherlock spat. "You waist your time playing with people."

"His little world of goldfish," Cassandra interupted.

John stayed on the opposite end of the couch, quickly passing glances between the three siblings. He watched as Mycroft's eyes fell to the book in his sister's hands.

"Dear me. I did not realize you found such. . .Gruesome things interesting. A vile excuse for litterature."

A slight look of annoyance filled Cassandra's eyes as she set down the book, marking The Black Cat as she waltzed over behind Mycroft's chair.

"You wouldn't recognize an authentic litterary voice," she began leaning to the one side of her brothers head,"Even if it hissed in one ear and slithered out the other." She moved her head to the other side of his head, hissing the words and waving her left hand away from his ear.

He had never witnessed such a cruel expression of sibling rivalry. No smile crossed between them. No jokes. He feared if they were left alone in the same room for long he would return to find two dead bodies and one very pleased Holmes, bathed in the blood using the bodies as a footstool. John mainly imagined Cassandra being the victor of the blood bath. Sure she was the youngest and smallest but ever cense Mycroft had arrived he had watched her insult, burn and injure him more than enough time to realize she could be dangerous.

"Cassandra - Moran Holmes get in here and help me and stop antagonizing your brother."

Cassandra's head fell as she dragged her feet into the kitchen to assist her mother.

"A vile little child she can be," Mycroft sighed.

"She is not completely terrible."

"Oh really Sherlock?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to be closer to his brother. "Don't you remember Redbeard?"

Sherlock's face stayed motionless but in his eyes something broke. His eye brows began to furrow as if confused but soon he regained his emotionless aura. Before John turned his eyes away he swear he saw, maybe for just a moment, Sherlock's eyes give him a once over.

Assuming he was imagining things he got to his feet, making his way into the kitchen.

"Any way I can help?" He asked kindly.

Cassandra gave him a smile as did Mrs Holmes. The air in the room was much different. More warm an welcoming but still slightly tainted by the mystery and danger that was Cassandra.

"Can you set the table?"

John replied with a nod and Cassandra placed a stack of eight plates and eight sets of silverware in John's arms.

"Eight?" John questioned. "But there's only six of-" He was cut off by his mother and father entering the flat. His stomach flipped and he began to panic. 

All the teens watched as the adults droned out in greetings and introductions. When it came time for Mr and Mrs Holmes to introduce the odd little bunch of theirs Mycroft only offered a smile and Sherlock gave no signs of acknowledgement. Luckily, Cassandra atleast shook their hands, her face holding so much fake emotion that she made Sherlock look happy by comparison.

When the group sat down at the table more suprises awaited.

Not one of the Holmes children put a drop of food on their plate. Instead Sherlock sat, his eyes closed and fingers steepled, not paying attention to a single odd glance he recieved. Mycroft twirled his fork around between the plate and his finger, trying to avoid making dreadful screeching noises, while Cassandra simply sat with her hands in her lap, eyes on the table.

The Watson's did not quite know how to react. Shocked into silence by how Mr and Mrs Holmes did not complain.

"All of you have your minds set on things?" Mrs Holmes asked her voice hinted with interest. After recieving no reaction she chose to continue. "Cassandra what are you busy with in that dark little mind of yours?"

"Cancer cells," she mumbled. "Thinking of other possible, unknown, ways that cancer can be spread to areas of the body so quickly. I'd test my theory but there is not quite a legal test subject."

John could feel the unease radiating from his parents as they fidgetted in their seats, wondering what was going on in the other two boys heads.

"Mycroft?"

Mycroft's eyes lifted from the fork to meet his mother's and that seemed to be a good enough answer as she nodded without a word even being spoken.

"Sherlock?"

"Thinking up a list of chemicals I need and experimental components," he said as if it was perfectly natural for a sixteen year old boy to think of such things. He opened his eyes and they locked with John's. Neither of them moved even after he returned to speaking. "Cassandra I need you to get me more components."

"No way Sherlock," she hissed.

"Please sister dear."

"No. I'm not your slave."

"I'll catch you a rat to test your cancer cell theory on."

"Deal."

They both stretched their hands behind Mycroft's back shaking on the matter, Sherlock's eyes still never left John's.

The rest of the meal only held idle talk between the two sets of parents. A few moments of criticism from the Watsons on how Sherlock was too young to be living so alone, left to manage himself. 

No words came between John, Mycroft, Sherlock and Cassandra. Only awkward glances.

"Soo," Mrs Watson began awkwardly. "Are you two ready for school to start?" Her question was directed to Sherlock and Cassandra and the matter brought a look of complete discomfort to their faces. When no response came she only looked between John and her husband. "Well, uhm, we best be off." And with that she stood up, giving the family thanks and descended the stairs, Mr Watson following in suite.

John hesitated, looking to each family member.

"Thank you for everything," he got to his feet. "I hope to see you all again." He nodded to Sherlock who still had his eyes closely keyed in on John. "S-Sherlock," he stuttered as he quickly followed his parents descent, leaving the Holmes family to their own peculiar ways.


	4. One Secret

It had only been an hour or so cense the awkward sad excuse for dinner. Mr and Mrs Holmes had left with Mycroft leaving the youngest siblings to their odd endeavors.

John sat alone at the dining room table. His parents had gone out to the bar with some friends leaving him to listen to the odd exchanges that happened above his head. He thought he was about to die from boredom when the sound of shoes against the stairs saved him. He turned his head to find Cassandra slipping on a black trench coat. He hesitated for a moment and finally convinced himself to run to the doorway.

"Hey, uhm, Cassandra."

He watched as she turned on her heels to face him, a detached, cold look on her face that quickly melted into a fake warm smile.

"Oh, hello John. Did you need something?"

He licked his lips shyly, grasping for words in his head. He hardly knew this family let alone understood how they worked.

"Can I tag along with you? I don't care where you are going but I'm rather bored. Mother and father went out for the rest of the night."

Her smile seemed to become genuine as she gave a nod of approval.

"I'm running to buy Sherlock a component he needs for some experiment. Then there's a book I must buy and I might stop at the cafe. If you want to tag along be my guest. I'd worry if I stayed here alone with Sherlock if I was you. He might try to experiment on you." John couldn't help but laugh slightly at the thought that Cassandra planted in his mind.

Two hours later John sat in a booth across from Cassandra, watching as she made sure that the container of cyanide was properly sealed before placing it back in the bag and turning to her cup of tea infront of her.

"So what book did you get?" John asked trying to strike up some form of conversation.

"Alan Turing: The Engima," Cassandra replied, beaming with a genuine smile.

"I've heard that name before. I can't put my finger on it though."

"Don't even get me started on this man," she warned jokingly,"Or I'll never shut up. He was an amazing man. In my eyes a war hero. Most people when they think of World War II they think of the big picture. The soldiers, the bombs, the deaths. I like looking at the small key components. The things behind the smoke screen of the big picture. He was a genius and did so much. . ."

John couldn't help but smile as Cassandra went on an on about the man by the name of Alan Turing and some code called Enigma. When she finally stopped to regain her breath he took the opportunity to ask a curious question.

"What happened to him? I mean did he die during the war? Natural death?"

He watched her eyes sadden ever so slightly. 

"He killed himself. Cyanide."

John couldn't help but wonder why but chose not to press on due to the importance of the subject to the Holmes girl.

"So," he began trying to ease the slight depression that had filled the air. "What's it like? Growing up with Sherlock I mean."

Cassandra left out an amused grunt and took a sip of her tea.

"Sherlock, Mycroft and I kept and still keep our distance. Each one of us focused on what stimuated our minds. Secrets binded us."

"Any good secrets?" John meant this as a joke but became confused when a thoughtful look filled Cassandra's eyes.

"Does Sherlock have a girlfriend?"

"No," she stated softly. "Not really his area."

"Boyfriend?"

She remained silent.

"Cause that's fine if he does."

"He knows it's fine. I know it's fine." Her voice had become slightly harsh.

"Alright that's fine. It's all fine. One more question."

"Well aren't you full of wonder today." Cassandra was less harsh now. Her voice softened along with her eyes. "Continue."

"How does a fourteen year old girl go around buying cyanide?"

"Friends in all the right places. Well," she let out a sight,"When I say friends."

John let out a slight laugh. He walked outside to hail a cab while Cassandra left the money on the table.

It was midnight by the time the two had returned to Baker St. They both entered the flat, slightly tired and discovered it to be oddly quiet. They assumed Mrs. Hudson was asleep but this silence was unsuitable for Sherlock's pressence in the building.

They gave eachother a worried glance before rushing up the stairs. They oppened the door to find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch. His breathing slow and shallow, eyes dialated. There was a needle and a sploch of od liquid on the carpet.

"You bastard." John turned to Cassandra as she mutter the words, walking over to her brother's side. "You're throwing your amazing gifts away by doing this. . .You're only sixteen. . .You. . ."

"Do shut up sister dear. Don't act like you have never tried it. Why," a acidic smile crossed his lips. "You are dying to do so now."

Cassandra took in a sharp breath and turned to John.

"I'm sorry John, but you best return down to your flat. This is something you don't need to see."

John stepped out into the hall and went to speak but the door clicked shut behind him before he could. He made his way back down to his flat, his parents were still not home. Probably for the best. Who knows how his parents would react to see a sixteen year old boy drugged up on heroine. 

It was now twelve-thirty and John realized his parents would not be home that night. He wanted to sleep but to his discomfort he found himself worry about that milky skinned boy, Sherlock Holmes. His perfect curls. His ocean eyes. His tall stature. He quickly shook his head. This wasn't right. What was he thinking?


	5. Chemistry

John awoke to the shrill scream of his alarm clock, grunting as he rolled over, thrashing his hand about to try and find the off button. It was six in the morning, the first day of school. John was everything but excited to attend, but he was curious to see how Sherlock and Cassandra handled it.

After stumbling around for an hour getting ready for the day John found himself sitting at the kitchen table, groggily sipping at his tea while watching the news. He shook his head, trying to lose the weight on his eyelids as he turned his head to find Cassandra walking in. He did his best to greet her warmly and she tried to return it, but she seemed no more energetic than John was.

Her short hair fell messily around the sides of her face, her bangs swept back. She wore a red sweatshirt and black skinny jeans. The fact was clear that she was not going for good first impressions, yet she still managed to look nice.

It was not long until Sherlock joined the two sleepy residents, clearly full of far more energy. He had dawned on black trousers and a nice white button down shirt.

"I can't believe I have to attend school," Sherlock exasperated.

John witnessed Cassandra shoot Sherlock a look that in his eyes said 'shut up or the next experiment I conduct will be on your severed limbs'.

The cold London air chilled all three of them to the core as they made their was towards the school. When they reached the building the warm air could not have been a better welcome.

"Well if it isn't my little kitten."

John and Sherlock quickly turned towards the voice while the only reaction that came from Cassandra was a slight growl. John's eyes fell on a boy about his height wearing blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His jet black hair slicked back and his chocolate eyes watching Cassandra intently. John watched as the mysterious boy walked up to her and wrapped his arm, tightly around her shoulder. He expected to see Cassandra push the boy away but to his utter suprise she began walking in step with him, his arm slipping around her waist, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"Well we should g-"

"Nope." John watched as Sherlock left him standing alone in the hall. With a sigh he shook his head and went towards his homeroom.

Homeroom had been boring and uneventful. After the bell rang John went looking for his chemistry class. The bell rang for class and he found himself hopelessly lost. He opened a door half expecting, more like hoping, it was the right room. Instead he was shocked to find a mostly empty music room. The only occupant was the same mysterious boy that had approached Cassandra earlier. He was sitting on a piano bench playing with a lighter and his eyes locked with John's. Those devilish eyes grew more fierce as he slowly approached him.

"Well, hello again."

John didn't respond.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." He sang the last word, stretching his hand out to John. He sighed as John's face just grew more scared. "Lost?" His voice had grown more quiet. 

John took a sharp breath as Jim looked over his shoulder at the paper he held.

"Down the hall. Last door on your left."

John attempted to utter some form of thanks but he was froze. Those dark cold, devilish eyes much like Cassandra's holding him in place. Jim Moriarty. Even the name sounded demonic.

When he restablished his capability to move he gave a quick nod before rushing off to the class he had been looking for.

He burst into the classroom, his face instantly flushing. All eyes were on him. The teacher looked over his glasses and cleared his throat, awaiting an excuse.

"Oh, I. . .Uhm. I got lost. John Watson."

"Well, Mr. Watson cense you were late you will be paired up with Mr. Holmes due to the fact that in ten minutes he manage to put everyone off and now lacks a lab partner."

John looked at his feet, trying to ignore all the smirks and silent laughs that were directed towards him, as he made his way to the stool beside Sherlock's.

Once he sat down and looked up, realizing that Sherlock had been watching him. He watched his face tint a slight shade of pink before he quickly turned his head towards the front of the class.

"My sister and I are going out for dinner tonight." John gave Sherlock a confused look.

"What?"

"My sister and I are going out for dinner tonight," Sherlock restated. "Would you like to join us?"

"Sherlock. John. Stop talking and pay attention."

They both sat in silence as the teacher droned on about what they would be required to achieve during the year.

When the bell rang and class was dismissed John stopped Sherlock before he could run off.

"About joining you and your sister I would love to." John watched as the corners of the boys lip twitched up ever so slightly before he nodded and rushed off.


	6. Just A Study

The school day had been quite taxing. A mixture of getting lost and awkward glances and wispers as John walked around. He was relieved when he finally returned to 221C. 

He had just changed into a comfortable cream jumper when his parents called him out to the kitchen. Upon entering he saw an excited look on his parents face and he automatically knew what was up.

"You guys are going away again," he sighed.

"Only for three months. We are going on a trip to Florida in America." The smile on his mothers face irritated him. He was about to make a snarky remark he would later regret when he was saved by a knock at the door.

Mr. Watson walked to open it and froze at the sight of Sherlock at the door.

"Hello Mr Watson. I just came to retrieve John."

Before any comment could be made John pushed passed his parents, grabbing Sherlock firmly by the forearm and dragging him out of the flat. Once outside in the cold air he let out a sad sigh and found Sherlock giving him an odd look.

"So," John began. "Where is Cassandra and where are we going?"

"Tapas Brindisa. Cassandra will be meeting us there. Let's be off."

John nodded in response and quickly walked by Sherlock's side in the right direction.

When the arrive they were seated at a square shaped booth beside a window.

"Well aren't you two cute."

John shot the waiter an odd look.

"We aren't-"

"Order whatever you'd like John. Antonio owes me."

John watched as the man called Antonio walked away leaving them to look over the menu as Sherlock pulled out a few chemistry papers.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock gave John a quizzical look as if what he was doing was plainly obvious.

"I got into the system and printed off all our projects for the year."

With a nod John turned back to the menu looking over all of his choices.

After the order was placed they sat alone in an awkward silence.

"So, how was your day? I bet it was better than mine. Sherlock Holmes doesn't get lost I bet." John watched Sherlock eyes sadden while his facial expression remained empty.

"I'll give you a hint," Sherlock replied quietly, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt revealing multiple deep dark purple bruises and scrapes. John's heart sank.

"What happened to you?" He half shouted.

Sherlock took a slight sip from the water glass he had infront of him before clearing his throat. "Most people don't enjoy others who are. . .Well. . .Different from them." He fell to a moment of silence. "Do you know why people like violence?" John just gave a shrug in reply, still saddened by the damage done to the boys pale skin. "It's because it feels good."

"You stole that from a book, Sherlock."

"I know. I got it from that new book of my sisters, but it is true."

John licked his lips and gently reached his hands across the table, taking up Sherlock's damaged arm gently.

'His arm isn't only bruised and cut,' John thought. 'It's bloody sprained.'

"So," John began still examining Sherlock's arm. "You put them off and they beat your arse to hell and back?" John froze. He felt a gentle sensation against his arm. Slightly moving his eyes to his wrist. 

"Human emotion is a confusing concept," Sherlock mumbled still brushing his thumb gently against John's wrist. 

John turned his eyes upward and they locked with the oceans that were Sherlock's eyes. He lost himself in that sea. Those gorgeous colors all swimming together but behind that was a fire. A fire John did not understand.

"Sorry that I'm late I was-" Cassandra froze at the table side, eyes looking over the position the boys were in. They both shot her a look before seperating as Cassandra slipped in beside John.

Her eyes fell on Sherlock's arms and her eyes widened.

"Sherlock," she sighed. 

"Oh don't get so worked up."

"Sherlock I'm not one to get worked up but I am one to worry about my brother."

Sherlock just made an odd grunting noise and wrote something down in a book that he had pulled out without anyone knowing.

"What's that you are writing?" John looked between Cassandra and Sherlock as they spoke, still silenced by shock and wonder of Sherlock's gentle touch.

"Just a new study sister dear."

The group sat in an odd silence as John was the only one to eat any food. Once finished the group departed back towards the flat.

The entire way John pondered all the reasons that could explain what Sherlock had done but nothing made cense. That's when it hit him.  
-  
"So does Sherlock have a girlfriend?"

"No not really his area."

"Boyfriend? Cause if he does that's fine."

"He knows it's fine. I know it's fine."

-

He stopped on the sidewalk outside of the flat, eyeing Sherlock as he let Cassandra unlock the door.

"Goodnight John." John brought himself back to reality just as Sherlock gave him a warm, even if somewhat fake, smile.

"Oh Uhm. Goodnight Sherlock."

And with that Sherlock turned his back to John, entering the flat, leaving him in utter disbelief.


	7. Cyanide

The next morning was just like before. The slow wake up and the chilling walk to school, except John was still confused about the previous night. John just couldn't shake the thought. Who Sherlock was utterly confused him to the core. The boy was a mystery, a mystery, that for some odd reason, John wanted to get involved with.

John was trading books between his bag and his locker when he caught the sounds of cheering and shouting. He looked down the hall and found a crowded circle of people, all yelling while throwing their fists in the air or cupping their hands around their mouths to appear louder.

"No! No stop it! Leave him alone!" John's eyes grew wider as he watched Cassandra run past him, down the hall towards the crowd, shouting at them to stop. She attempted to push her way through the crowd but failed when a bigger boy in the outer rim shoved her harshly onto the floor.

John quickly slammed his locker shut, the loud metal clang seeming to amplify the noise of the shouts, and ran to Cassandra's side, slowly helping her up.

"What's going on?" John half shouted while watching a bruise forming on Cassandra's forehead.

"It's Sherlock," she cried. "They are hurting Sherlock!"

John's eyes quickly shot towards the crowd. He firmly grasped Cassandra's arm and dragged her to the inner ring of the circle. Once there they both felt their hearts break. In the center of it all was Sherlock. His lip was bleeding, blood dripping into a puddle on the floor as a dark blue and purple circle formed arround his right eye. They watched in horror as a tall muscular boy slammed his foot into Sherlock's side.

"Call me an idiot again Holmes! I dare you!"

The boy was about to land another kick on Sherlock when John jumped in the way, spreading out his arms protectively infront of Sherlock, making the boy freeze. Before he could even question it he stumbled backwards after Cassandra's fist came in contact with his face, breaking his nose and sending more blood to the floor. The boy grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose and with his free hand forcefully brought the back of his hand across Cassandra's face, sending her into the small puddle of blood on the floor. Before the boy could react any further a shrill shout came from the outer ring of the group. "Mr. Lestrade is coming!" That quickly dispersed the group leaving John with the beaten Holmes siblings.

They all sat in the nurses office, being patched up and having blood washed off, as Mr. Lestrade ranted on about how Mycroft was correct in saying that they would be trouble.

"You can't just insult people Sherlock and expect them not to react."

Sherlock remained silent, his eyes focused on the floor as Lestrade turned to his sister.

"And you Cassandra. You can not jump into these situations and-"

"They were hurting my brother! I had to interfere."

Lestrade eyed the two teens, ignoring John watching silently from the corner of the room.

"He insulted me first." Everyone's eyes focused on Sherlock.

"Oh yeah? What did he say?"

"Do you know why people like violence, Mr Lestrade?"

He remained silent.

"It's because it feels good. Especially when taken out on someone who is different."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Lestrade sighed as he sat in the chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock just shook his head.

"Boys have girlfriends. Girls have boyfriends. But what happens when someone does not follow that pattern?"

John felt his heart stop and his body tense up. He was right. The things he had thought about Sherlock were right. But why did he now feel so uneasy knowing? He felt awkward and shaken when he looked over Sherlock. 

His eyes remained intently on Sherlock as Lestrade informed Sherlock and Cassandra that they had theee days out of school suspension and that John had no issues and would continue school as usual.

As John left the nurses office he watched through the glass doors as Sherlock and his sister climbed into a shiny black car, their mother at the wheel, and drive off.

John went about his day, listening to all the conversations and comments about the fight and was very relieved when he returned home. Upon arrival Mrs. Hudson informed John that his parents had left for their vacation, giving him their love and promising to be back in three months. His only reply was a mumbled sentence that hardly counted as words.

He walked to his bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling out his computer. He quickly typed out a very detailed description of the fight and was just about to upload it to his blog when his phone rang out. Picking it up he saw he had a new text.

"Hello John. Please keep an eye on Sherlock. I won't be aroumd for a while so I can't watch him.  
-CMH

P.S: Don't let his emotionless facade trick you."

John let out a sigh, returning his phone to his bedside table before hitting the upload button and closing his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes. What went on in that boys head? The things that John had learned that day just blurring the already confused, messy picture of who Sherlock was.

He opened his eyes when footsteps went on above his head continuosly, slowly enticing him up the stairs. He opened the door to find Sherlock pacing the room, clearly in thought. He froze when he noticed John in the doorway.

"Oh. Hello John."

John just nodded in reply as Sherlock offered him a seat. He sat down and watched the pale, bruised boy take up his violin and walk to the window.

"How does it feel?" John questioned, soon regretting it.

Sherlock turned and eyed him quizzically, his brows furrowed and his eyes squinted.

"How does what feel?"

"Being pushed around an all."

A quick rush of sadness crossed Sherlock's features but him emotionless expression quickly returned.

"John," he began. "We have only known eachother for a short amount of time. So, I will tell you that I don't care what others say or think. Petty, meaningless words."

"Ok," John retorted. "Now be honest."

"What?"

"Your sister told me now to believe this whole cold hearted and emotionless facade of yours. So be honest."

The sad look returned to Sherlock's face and for the first time ever did not fade.

"It burns like cyanide in ones lungs," he wispered. His voice now softer and somewhat. . .broken.

John did not reply and Sherlock gave a slight nod before turning to the window.

"So. . .That whole boyfriend girlfriend statement?"

Sherlock gave John a glance over his shoulder.

"What was that about exactly?"

"You know," Sherlock stated. "I can see it in your eyes. You know and yet you still remain," And with that Sherlock turned to the window once more and began playing his violin. The song was sad and yet John found himself lost in it.


	8. Try Understanding

John slowly awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. He squinted slightly against the faint light flowing in through the window. Turning his head slightly he found Sherlock standing beside him and his face quickly heated up as he sat forward.

"You still have too go to school," Sherlock muttered before stepping away.

John ran his hands over his face. He had fallen asleep listening to Sherlock playing his violin. The rate of his heart sky rocketed as he turned to the clock. Six fifteen. Did Sherlock still wake up this early even though he was not aloud to attend school for the rest of the week?

"What are you doing awake Sherlock?"

Sherlock gave him a tired glance and shrugged.

"I didn't sleep. I had some work to attend to."

John opened his lips to speak, to explain to Sherlock that lack of sleep would be hard on his brain, but as soon as he had opened them they were closed again. He didn't want to frustrate Sherlock. He already appeared to be in enough pain. His hair was more messed up than usual and the robe he wore was ruffled and crinkled, showing where he had pulled at it and grabbed at it in frustration.

John gave Sherlock a once over. His eye was swollen partly shut, the bruise now larger and much darker. His lip seemed slightly swollen as well and the cuts and bruises on his arms looked very pained. That was when John noticed a few new marks. He felt fire in his heart and quickly made his way to Sherlock's side, taking up his arm in his hands gently.

"John what are-"

"What did you do Sherlock?!"

Sherlock blinked quickly a few times, shocked by John's anger.

"What are-"

"Oh don't play stupid," John snapped. "It doesn't suit you." He quickly but gently brushed his fingertips over Sherlock's arm. "Your arm is dotted with very fine punctures. . ." John met Sherlock's eyes only to find a blank expression. "And these burns. . .They are deep and like smiley faces, clearly made by a lighter."

Sherlock's face scrunched up in annoyance. "Why do you care?" He spat.

John met Sherlock's eyes once more with his own stinging eyes.

"Cassandra told me to look after you," he mumbled, dropping his gaze.

"It's more than that," Sherlock stated. "I can see it in your eyes."

John froze up for a moment. His eyes still downcast. Finally let his hands fall from Sherlock's arm and turned away, making his way down the stairs without another word.

After a much needed shower John changed into a black and white striped jumper and jeans and went to leave for school when, Mrs. Hudson stopped him.

"Would you like a ride to school dear? It is rather cold out."

John stayed silent for a moment before finally agreeing, and made his way out to the car with the land lady. They drove in silence. Not even the sound of their breathing disturbed it.

When they finally reached the school Mrs. Hudson stopped John before he could leave.

"I know Sherlock is hard to handle," she began, a sweet smile plastered on her face. "But you have to understand how broken he and his family are."

"Why are you saying this?" John watched as the woman's smile grew larger.

"You're worried about him and their is a caring love in your eyes."

John's breath caught as she spoke and he quickly exited the car, refusing to even give her one last glance.

Why was everyone saying he was feeling things for Sherlock? He wasn't like that. Sure Sherlock was stunning. His milky skin making those gorgeous, ocean gems of his really pop, and those dark auburn curls contrasting perfectly with his skin. And his cheek bones and those perfect cupid bow lips.

John slapped himself, earning a few glances of concern from other students.

Why was he thinking like this? He never thought of boys in such a way. But, now that he thought about it he had never thought of girls either.

John felt his stomach churn an he tightly wrapped his arms around himself. He needed to try to understand what was going on in his head. He needed to try and understand Sherlock and his family.

Witha sigh he walked in the opposite direction of his homeroom. He had to go where he never wanted to go. The place he always avoided. 

The Guidance Office.


	9. The Heart

John went through his day in a confused fuzz. Chemistry. Algebra 2. English.

When he reached Health though he stepped out of his fuzzy head and worked hard. He enjoyed learning about the human body and how to handle it best. John wanted to be an doctor. Mainly an army doctor. thought of helping others and possibly saving their lives made him happy.

John was walking in the hall towards his locker so he could put away his things before retuning home, when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned around to find a sweet looking girl with long pigtails in her hair.

"I-I'm sorry to bother you, but, you're friends with Sherlock Holmes right?"

"Uhm, yes?" John was kind of confused. After the dreadful sight of how many people disliked Sherlock and yet someone was showing interest.

"Sorry," the shy girl held out her hand. "My name is Molly Hooper."

He gave her a gentle smile, shaking her hand. "John Watson, and yes. I am."

She looked down shyly before quickly taking a heavy brown bag from her bookbag and handing it out to him.

"Can you give this to him? It has some things for him and his sister."

John took it with a nod and began to open it.

"Oh, I wouldnt-"

John let out a yelp, almost dropping the bag to the floor.

"There is a head and a arm from the elbow down! And a human. . .Heart? How did you. . .Why do you. . ."

John felt as if he might puke.

"They needed them for experiments," she began quickly. "My mother works at Barts Morgue and was able to get them for me. I figured it would help Sherlock while he was out of school."

John licked his lips and nodded, tightening his grasp on the bag.

"I'll give them to him."

"Thank you," Molly replied before running off.

John was walking home, trying to ignore that he had a bag of body parts in his arms. He began thinking of how he would approach Sherlock. Thinking of how he had been thinking about the pale boy earlier. Why was he thinking of Sherlock like that? He felt his heart beat faster. His stomach fill with butterflys.

"John?"

John shook his head quickly and found himself standing in the doorway of Sherlock's flat, Sherlock's eyes on him intently.

"Ah," Sherlock exasperated, taking the bag from John's hands. "I see Molly got me what I needed." 

John watched as Sherlock rushed to set the bag on the table and before he knew Sherlock was only inches from him.

"Are you alright John?"

John locked eyes with Sherlock, his gaze in some way or another filled with concern. He felt his face begin to heat up the longer he held Sherlock's gave.

"Uhm, y-yes. I'm fine."

Sherlock eyed him for one more moment, before nodding and turning to walk away. But without even thinking John reached out and took hold of the sleeve of Sherlock's silk robe. Sherlock turned back to John.

"What is it?"

John hesitated, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

"I need advice."

He was caught off guard when Sherlock gave him his full attention.

"I," John licked his lips. "I'm having. . .I've been thinking. . .I mean I. . ," He was stopped by soft lips against his own. John froze, not knowing how to react yet felt dissapointed when they were gone.

"Sherlock why," before John could continue Sherlock was gone, locked in his room, the bag of body parts along with him, leaving John covered in a wave of confusion.

He went and slumped down against the couch. What had just happened? Why did he feel sad? Why was he craving Sherlock back? His lips against his. Maybe even a bit more.

John couldn't hide it anymore. No matter how wrong it may be. No matter how others may react or feel.

John had growing feelings for Sherlock Holmes. That gorgeous arrogant boy. Maybe it was time to embrace the fact instead of hiding from it.


	10. The Ocean

Sherlock and John had not spoken in the following five days cense the kiss. Both of the Holmes siblings had returned to school and Cassandra quickly caught on to the awkward feeling eminating from the two boys.

The three of them sat in their swim suits outside of the pool, watching all the other students get ready for the swim meet.

John turned to Cassandra as she let out a loud groan, layin down on the bleacher.

"This is so dull!" she groaned. "We are not apart of this so why do we have to be here?"

John just gave her a shrug earning another annoyed sound. 

"Next up. Carl Powers."

The three turned their attention to the pool, Sherlock still not saying a word. 

John always glanced at Sherlock every now and then trying to catch his eyes, but never once was he able to, because Sherlock never looked at him in the first place. Ever cense that night, Sherlock would leave the flat if John came upstairs.

John was pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of screams and his eyes narrowed in on a continuous splashing in the pool. Before he knew it Cassandra had dived right into the pool, Sherlock was kneeling at the edge. He watched intently as Cassandra dragged a body to the edge, Sherlock pulling it up onto the deck. John watched as the boy convulsed and he rushed to his side. 

But it was to late. Before anyone could do a single thing the boy fell still. His skin blue. John backed away with Cassandra as Sherlock ran off to do god knows what.

The two of them sat on a bench in silence waiting for Sherlock, police officers and EMS personel checking on them and asking them question. For a long while they sat in silence but Cassandra grew restless.

"So is Sherlock a good kisser?"

John blinked multiple times before meeting Cassandra's sparkling, curious eyes.

"What?"

"Oh come on you heard me," she moaned impatiently. "You have a thing for Sherlock!"

John felt his face heat up and could only imagine how red his face was. He looked down at his hands twiddling his thumbs.

"Don't tell him," he wispered in reply.

"A little late for that John, he already knows."

"How?" John panicked only recieve a laugh from Cassandra.

"John it is written all over your face when you are around him."

"Do I even have a chance?" John was shocked by his own question and hoped that he had said it so quietly that Cassandra did not hear him.

"Oh, John." He met her eyes once again and saw a genuine, warm smile cross her face.

"His shoes!"

John and Cassandra turned to see Sherlock standing behind them. His eyes curious, clearly thinking. His hair messier than usual.

"What?" 

"The shoes, Cassandra, Carls shoes they are gone."

John couldn't help but look at the now fading bruises and marks all over Sherlock's body. He eyed Sherlock's perfect form. He was lanky yet still had a bit of a built form. It did worry John though how prominent his ribs and color bone were.

"Well why not complain to John about how the police won't get involved. Go out to eat or something." John was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard his name and watched as Cassandra pulled on her sweatpants and a hoodie over her now dry swimsuite.

"But why don't you-"

"No, Sherlock, I have a Journalism project that me and Jim need to finish."

"That boy is psycotic," Sherlock mumbled as Cassandra left him alone with John. Soon John felt eyes staring at him intently and found himself unable to make eye contact. "So John, you hungry?"

Not to much later John found himself seated across from Sherlock at some odd corner restraunt. He felt awkwardly self conscious as he ate and Sherlock sat there, not even a crumb infront of him.

"I'm sorry about the other night."

John almost choked on his food, eventually looking up to Sherlock. After five days of not speaking to eachother or een a mention of that night an Sherlock just randomly brings it up.

"Why are you sorry?"

Sherlock's eyes seem to sadden as his pale skin flushed. 

"I made the assumption that you felt things I did and took action and-"

"Wait Sherlock, wait."

"Yes?"

John watched as the oceans filled up, downcast at the table. The waves were crashing with regret and guilt.

"You thought I felt the same things you feel?"

John watched the waves turn into panic and turn every which way to look for an exit. A way out of the question.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, quickly as Sherlock quickly rushed out of the building leaving his bookbag.

John grew curious. Knowing he shouldn't he still pulled two notebooks out of Sherlock's bookbag and began flipping through them.

The first one was filled with many theories and chemical equations that John did not understand. He quickly replaced it in his bookbag and turned to the other notebook.

The second one seemed totally empty until he reached a few middle pages. There were notes.

John Watson. Wants to be Army Doctor. Average Intelligence.

There were so many notes having to do with him. They went on for four pages and soon returned to blank pages.

He was about to close it when chicken scratch ink lines on another page caught his eye.

Slowly he turned to the page and felt his heart flutter and the beat quicken. Quickly written with a single heart at the end were those words. Those words that started it all.

Tell John Watson You Love Him.


	11. Drugs

John picked up the phone, punching in Cassandra's phone number. He had looked everywhere. Back at the school, at the flat, around places he would be in the city, everywhere. Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

The phone rang multiple times and he almost gave up when he heard a click and a sleek males voice come through the reciever that John recognized.

"Hello?"

"Jim?" John questioned.

"Yes."

"Where's Cassandra?" He swore he could hear a smirk cross Jim Moriarty's face.

"In the shower. Why? Do you need her?"

"I can't find Sherlock anywhere. I needed Cassandra's help. I've checked-"

"Check your nearest drug den," and with that Jim had hung up, leaving John to hunt down Sherlock himself. He did not want to check where Jim had told him to. He didn't want to think of that. Of what he could he doing in such a place, but after hours of hunting down back alleys, in shops and asking slightly familiar faces in the streets if they had seen a tall, pale boy with auburn hair, he gave in and found a run down three story house.

"Hello?" John knocked on the door before slowly pushing it open. There was rubbish everywhere and paint all over the walls. He could hear groans and muffled voices coming from the hall before him and the floor overhead. After a quick scan of the first floor he ran upstairs, still on the hunt. He felt a wave of relief after checking three rooms and not finding Sherlock but his heart sank when he reached the last room on the second floor.

There, slumped against a matress was a beaten, drugged up Sherlock. Blood staining his white shirt and a needle still slightly stuck in his arm.

A lump formed in John's throat as he made his way to Sherlock's side. He watched as his eyes fluttered open, his dialated eyes meeting John's.

"Hello, John," he mumbled, a drugged smirk crossing his face. "Did you come for me?"

John found himself unable to speak, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. Instead of speaking he quickly dialed Cassandra's number again, hoping that she would answer this time.

To his relief he got what he wanted. The lump slightly dissolved when the familiar fake voice came through the phone.

"Yes John? What's wrong?"

"I found Sherlock."

"Where?"

. . .

________

It had hardly been fifteen minutes before Cassandra had rushed into the drug den and located the right room, and rushed towards the two boys in a clear, angry fit.

"Sherlock I can't believe you," she wispered, mostly to herself.

"Well, hello to you too," Sherlock's speach was slurred ever so slightly.

"John help me."

"What?"

John stood as Cassandra helped Sherlock up, wrapping him in her trench coat, before slipping his right arm over her shoulder. John did the same with his left arm and they both proceeded to leeding Sherlock out of the den, keeping their arms on Sherlock's waist to keep him steady.

At first they tried stumbling down the streets but after they all fell on their butts in the middle of the street. It took a moment but eventually John convinced Cassandra to call Mycroft.

The three of them sat on a bench, Sherlock slumped against John. John could feel his face heated and could imagine the flush on it, but either Cassandra had not noticed or she truly did not care. He twitched, his face heating more when Sherlock's hand fell onto John's thigh. Luckily he was saved by the sight of Mycroft's sleek, black car. They all piled in, Sherlock more like fell in, and sat in silence, not one of them wanting to be the first to explain what happened.

Once again the three of them were left on the sidewalk, this time infront of 221B and in shock. Mycroft didn't ask a word, he seemed to not even breathe. He just left them.

John looked up to the sky at the sound of thunder and felt a few faint raindrops hit his face.

"We should get him inside." John turned his gaze to Cassandra and nodded and began to help assist Sherlock up to his flat.

John stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Cassandra had helped him set up Sherlock on the couch and soon after left, telling John that she had things to handle and to call her again if something happened.

"John. . .John. . ," Sherlock began moving around on the couch and John made his way to his side once more. 

"What is it Sherlock?" John looked at the ocean. He watched as the swelling of the waves went down. The drugs wearing off letting the waves calm. Sherlock stuttered about, the drugs still clearly inflicting his brain.

"Oh J-John... Oh John Watson."

"Yes, Sherlock?" He watched Sherlock's flutter shut. He got up to get his tea when he froze.

"I... Love you... John Watson." He quickly turned. Sherlock still had his eyes closed. John licked his lips, trying to contain his thoughts. Sherlock didn't mean it. He's drugged up. He only wished it was true. God how can he work this problem out.

After coming out of his confusion he returned Sherlock's kitchen and sat at the table. He was half tempted to return to his own flat but did not trust Sherlock alone.

John jolted up, opening his eyes at the sensation of hands on his shoulders. He blinked a few times, realizing he had fallen asleep at the table, and turned his head to find Sherlock behind him. The flush that he felt was now constant returned to his face.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Yes, quite alright. I have things to attend to." John just nodded and Sherlock gave him a look that told him he should go.

"Oh, yes, right." John stood up and gave a half smile, before making his way to his own flat and collapsed on the couch to return to the little land of sleepy make believe in his head.


	12. Determination

Today was the day. Today was the day that John told Sherlock how he felt. Or atleast that was what he told himself. So far he had walked up to the boy in his flat six times and gone to say something but froze with his mouth open, earning a gaze of confusion from the pale boy before he returned his eyes back to his microscope. Sherlock probably thought John was playing some odd game with him. 

John knew that Sherlock probably already noticed how John felt. The world was an open book to him and John was no different. But he felt that it would atleast help to get his feelings out.

He was sitting at the base of the stairs, scrolling through and email from his parents. It had been a month now sense they had left. The moment John finish the email Mrs. Hudson walked in the door, arms full of shopping bags.

"Oh," she exasperated, shocked to see John at the bottom of the stairs. "I did not expect to see you there John."

"Sorry," he said quietly.

Mrs. Hudson gave him an odd once over before smiling.

"Would you mind running Sherlock's groceries up to him?" John only nodded in reply before taking the bags and making his seventh trip up the stairs. 

When he entered the room he found Sherlock at the window. His over sized blue robes hanging from his body limply. One hand in his hair, boney fingers brushing back his hair, his bow and violin in the other. 

John felt his breath catch. Sherlock was stunning. No matter what he was doing his very form was enough to make John melt. Especially the oceans he held in his sockets. If it was possible he would drown in them.

John blinked multiple times once he realized Sherlock had moved, now only about a foot away giving him an odd look. 

"Are we still playing that odd game of yours?" Sherlock questioned, his voice half amused, half entertained.

John felt his mouth open and close multiple times as he tried getting the words out. He swallowed once and took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Hudson asked me to bring you your groc-"

"You're blushing."

John felt as if his lungs were going to collapse.

"And your eyes dialated quite a bit."

His heart was smashing against his ribs. He flinched as he felt Sherlocks slim fingers circle around his wrist.

"And your pulse is has quickened."

John watch as a the edges of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards slight before he took the bags to the kitchen and quickly returned, trapping John between him and the wall.

"Sh-Sherlock," John yelped, stunned and trembling.

"What is it Watson?"

John looked up and met the oceans he had so often gotten lost in. To his surprise he found warmth and something that could maybe in some scenarios be considered love.

"W-Why are you. . .I mean. . .Why. . ." He couldn't find the words.

"I've known for sure sense the third time you walked up the stairs." And before John could reply he felt cold, soft lips crash against his. He didn't know how to react at first but soon he was returning the kiss, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's soft auburn curls.

The kiss was ended when a slight gasp and the sound of something hitting the floor pulled them apart. Both boys turned to find Mycroft and Cassandra in the doorway. John had never seem such a happy look on Cassandra's face. Her eyes were glittering with joy and her smile spread from ear to ear, her hands clasped together against her chest. Mycroft's face on the other hand was frozen with shocked eyes and his mouth wide open, his umbrella at his feet.

Everyone jumped when Cassandra let out a high pitched squeel and jumped up and down.

"Finally! I thought that was never going to happen!"

John couldn't help but chuckle as Sherlock roled his eyes.

"What are you two doing here?" Sherlock's voice was dripping with annoyance.

Mycroft cleared his throat, shot his eyes between the two boys before looking back to Sherlock, his empty face restored.

"Mummy said you weren't answering her emails or phone calls so she sent us to see if you would be coming for Christmas next week?"

John felt his heart jump in suprise. Christmas was next week? He didn't even notice his parents would be gone for the event. But it did not come as a suprise, they were gone every year. It appeared he'd be spending the holiday alone. Or so he thought.

"Can John come with me?" The request sent a jolt of butterflys through John's stomach.

"Why would he come?" Mycroft groaned.

"I figured mummy and daddy would want to see their sons boyfriend for Christmas."

More butterflys. Boyfriend? Was Sherlock serious? Mycroft only roled his eyes.

"Do as you wish," and with that Mycroft picked up his umbrella and turned on his heels to leave. Cassandra gave the two a quick thumbs up and a warm, excited smile before tailing her eldest brother, leaving the two alone.

"B-Boyfriend?" John stuttered, his face heating up and his palms sweating.

"Of course. I mean if that is alright with you."

John quickly embraced Sherlock tightly and smiled at the feeling of the tall boys arms hesitating before awkwardly before returning the embrace.

John spent the rest of the night uttering small talk with Sherlock as he did some work under the microscope. He watched him intently. Taking in every feature. Every feature that now belonged to him. At one point he got a bit fidgetty and went to look at Sherlock's violin, almost giving him a heart attack when he dropped it.

When he finally couldn't keep his eyes open any longer he went to Sherlock, butterflys still filling his stomach, and gave him a goodnight kiss to which he replied with hardly anything before returning back to work.

It would take time and be hard John knew. Mycroft and Cassandra both explained how empty and shut off Sherlock was. John had experienced it first hand. But he was willing to work for it. He wanted to understand Sherlock and make him stop feeling all the pain he did. Little did he know that everything would go down in fire.


	13. Truth

It had been almost a week since John's feelings were set free but he was not sure how to feel about the situation. Sherlock said to Mycroft that John was his boyfriend and had even confirmed the fact with John when he had asked, yet nothing seemed to have changed. Sherlock was just as distant and empty, except for at night. John would always return to his own room, tired and confused after trying to get Sherlock to express his feelings all day. But at the same time every night he would wake up to find Sherlock curled up against him. He would smile and forget that their relationship made no sense.

"Why do we do this? This is not something our family does."

"Oh, hush now Myc. Sherlock and Cassandra have both found happieness in life and maybe some celebrating could help." John watch the two youngest Holmes snicker as mummy Holmes lectured Mycroft about why they were all celebrating Christmas together. He sat beside Jim Moriarty, the kid he still felt odd around, and watched the odd tensions run their course through each family member.

Quite obviously annoyed Mrs. Holmes encouraged the kids to do something for the evening. They had already eaten, even if only four of them ate, and had nothing left to spend their time on. So, after moments of contemplation John suggested they go watch a movie upstairs and make forts. 

He soon regretted the now childish notion as he recieved a few awkward glances, but was relieved when Cassandra agreed, knowing that Sherlock and Jim would follow.

John and Jim were put in charge of building the forts, Sherlock was put in charge of snacks (even if he would not be consuming any), and Cassandra was put in charge of rounding up movies.

John spread two chairs about a yard or so apart from eachother, hiding the legs behind cushions and laying a comforter over the top. As he did so he couldn't help but notice the odd looks Jim kept giving him.

"Oie, John?" John reluctantly turned at the sound of Jim's voice.

"What?"

A sly smirk spread across the boys devilish face and his deep pits that he called eyes met John's.

"What's it like screwing Sherlock?"

John went bug eyed, his face heating up. Why was he so embarassed? He's just lucky enough that Sherlock acknowledges him.

"W-We. . ."

"Oh," he sang mockingly. "Sherlock's so shut in you haven't even gotten there yet. Well it has only been a week, but you want it bad."

John was about to shoot back a response when a loud crash rang out from downstairs and before he knew it his feet carried him flying down the stairs, along with Jim.

They froze at the corner of the wall, wanting to see the situation without interfering, but what they both saw was something they could never, would have never, even imagined.

Cassandra was huddled in the corner, blood dripping from her forehead. Sherlock was on the floor, hands and knees holding up his shaking and gasping form, a broken glass beside a mans leg, their father's leg. 

Mr. Holmes was towering over Sherlock, a belt in his hand. John could hear the faint sounds of mummy Holmes sobbing outside and Mycroft trying to comfort her. 

He had to repress a gasp when Sherlock turned his head just enough that the two boys could see his face. From above his right eye down to the lower left part of his chin was a big, red imprint of a belt that slowly changed from red to bluish-purple. John couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sherlock you know you can't disobey me," Mr Holmes' speech was slurred. He was drunk. "You aren't aloud to be gay. You aren't aloud to do drugs. No, no, no. You must be exactly what we tell you to be."

Eyes looked on in horror as he raised the belt over Sherlock's head again, and they all held their breath when Cassandra threw herself infront of her brother, blood trickling down her face.

"STOP IT!" she screamed, tears mixing with the blood on her face.

"Not you Cass. No no let your brother be a big boy now." He brought the belt down across her arm, causing her to recoil it in pain, but she did not waver from sheilding her brother. "He doesn't want you around." A smack rang out against the other arm. "You killed his only friend. That stupid animal just because you were jealous. You're a mut like it too!" One more swing, the leather slapping across Cassandra's face, sending her back into a huddled ball.

Jim and John ran to hide when Mr. Holmes went looking for more alcohol and once he was out of sight they quickly transported the siblings upstairs.

Sherlock was silent, huddled under the fort that John had built while Cassandra acted as if nothing had ever happened. Acted as if there was not a huge bruise and blood on her face. As if the leather and metal latch didn't leave gashes in her arms.

No one wanted to try and ask her about what had happened. They felt it would pull a trigger in her head and she'd crumble like dried up clay. The smile on her face seemed true but the pain and sorrow and anger in her eyes boiled and poured like lava out of a volcano.

John scooted under the fort with Sherlock while Cassandra and Jim argued over watching Star Wars or Indiana Jones.

"So that's the truth?" John wispered softly. He watched Sherlock's eyes stay locked to the floor, his breathing almost non-existent. The bruise had become a deep purple and there was a small cut where the edge of the leather must have opened his skin.

John wanted to reach out and touch him. To hold him and tell him everything was alright. He took a deep breath and swiftly, but gently, moved his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. He felt the boy flinch but slowly relax and turn his eyes to John's.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "That is the truth. That is why." Sherlock returned to silence and the look in his eyes showed he wanted to be left alone.

John let out a sigh and looked at the triumphant Cassandra. She had won the argument and was at the moment turning on Star Wars Episode III.

Nothing could dull the pained curiosity and anxiety between the four. No one wanted to talk about it. To think about it. To picture it. Everyone just wanted it to be ok. To never have happened.

They were all sitting in silence watching as one by one the Jedi were killed as Mrs. Holmes walked into the room.

She quickly made her way to Cassandra to check on her and see how bad her condition was, but Cassandra told her mother to worry about Sherlock first.

After giving up on trying to help Cassandra Mrs. Holmes made her way to John and Sherlock and couldn't help but smile a very sad smile. John had become a pillow for Sherlock. He was leaning back against a cushion and Sherlock's head rested on his chest. His right hand holding fastly onto a clump of John's shirt.

"He looks so exposed," Mrs Holmes wispered, looking to John with warm eyes. "Take good care of him please? He needs someone like you in his life."

John replied with a nod but stopped her before she could leave.

"This is the reason isn't it?" He wispered. "This is the reason your children are the way they are."

Her expression became sadder and she shook her head. "They don't deserve this. They are so smart and special. But this is the sad truth of how they became like. . .This."

John only looked down at Sherlock, brushing one of his curls away from his face before placing a kiss on his forehead.

He looked from Sherlock's sleeping form to the fake facade that was Cassandra's bubbly happieness. He wanted to see under the shells of these two. But most of all he wanted to know the truth inside Sherlock's head, and he was determined to get it.


	14. Struggling

John awoke the next morning to a suprise that made him smile uncontrollably. He was laying on his back, Sherlock still cuddled up against him clinging to his shirt. He looked so peaceful and quiet but the giant bruise across his face ruined the content look. 

John wanted to brush his fingers against it but he figured it might hurt or wake him and he didn't want that. He couldn't stop running through the night before in his head. The sight of Sherlock down on the floor, gasping to breathe, and Cassandra, bleeding, throwing herself infront of her brother. It was a sight straight out of a police report.

Soon John realized that the tv was still on. Star Wars Episode II was playing and he could hear a quiet little voice singing quietly. It was a deep male's voice and it sounded very sweet, but he became very shocked when he discovered that it was Jim's voice.

He craned his neck just enough to see Jim holding Cassandra tightly in his arms and rubbing his fingers gently against the cuts and bruises. His voiced was calm but John coudn't decipher what he was saying. However when Jim noticed John was watching he gave him a death glare, shifting slightly, John shifted as well.

After a few seconds of silence both Cassandra and Sherlock woke up, shooting straight up and onto their feet. They seemed wide awake and quickly glanced between the two boys on the floor.

"Goodmorning you two," John stated, shocked by their quick awakening.

He watched as Cassandra yawned and rubbed her eyes then gasped.

"We didn't open presents yesterday," she exaspertaed. "Come on let's do it now!" John chuckled as she grabbed Jim by the wrist and dragged him down the stairs.

"She's so strong," John mumbled to himself, but Sherlock heard him.

"She has to be," his voice was stuck in a monotone state. "She has to make up for the strength and happieness Mycroft and I do not have."

John watched as the edges of Sherlock's lips twitched upwards ever so slight.

"Well let's not keep her waiting then," he smiled, gently intwining Sherlock's fingers with his and follow Jim and Cassandra down the stairs.

Mr and Mrs Holmes were both waiting for them all downstairs. They all hesitated and froze up for a moment before Sherlock, John and Jim sank into the couch and Cassandra plopped down next to the Christmas tree.

"Sherlock goes first," she stated with a smile and gently tossed a package into Sherlock's lap. They all watches as he shook it gently in his hand and rattled it next to his ear, and after a long moment tore the paper off and pulled out a deep blue scarf.

"Do you like it?" Cassandra watched with hopeful eyes as Sherlock tied it around his neck.

"I love it," he replied, his voice actually filled with interest.

John thought the scarf looked great on him. It brought out his perfect sparkling eyes and made his skin seem even more milky and pale and well. . .Perfect.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the feel of a heavy present being placed on his legs. It was wrapped in deep, shiny blue wrapping paper with a sparkling white ribbon wrapped around it.

"Is this from you Cassandra?" He asked very shocked, watching as the young girll nodded excitedly.

He smiled and began tearing it open. Excitement filled him as he pulled out books on the human anatomy, medical terms and army doctors.

"Cassandra you shouldn't have," he felt his smiled widen.

"I had to. I could just tell how badly tou wanted to be a doctor and I couldn't help myself."

"Thank you so much." John flipped through the books as Cassandra passed out the rest of the presents.

Everyone's joy stopped however when Mr Holmes yelled at Cassandra to calm down and start conducting herself properly. She was not five she was almost fifteen.

They took this as a cue to leave and after brief goodbyes they all piled into the car, Mycroft at the wheel, and waved goodbye to mummy and daddy Holmes, pulling away quickly.

They were all still quite tired and in their pajamas when they returned to 221B. 

John hugged Cassandra before her and Jim left, sleepy and claiming they had work to do, and quickly returned to Sherlock who was laying back ok the couch, fingers steepled underneath his chin.

John couldn't take his eyes off that dark bruise, and soon it became harder when Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and saw it for herself.

"Oh, Sherlock dear what happened?" She cooed.

"Just normal family holidays Mrs Hudson."

"Are you just gonna leave your boyfriend here to worry about you in silence?" Sherlock turned his eyes to John and then quickly sat up.

"Do you need something?" He retorted clearly annoyed.

She was till for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face before she raised the phone. 

"Oh yes, John it's your parents."

He felt his heart race. Did they hear Mrs Hudson's comment? What would they think? He shakily took the phone from the woman's hand and walked out to the kitchen, trying to get some privacy.

"Hello?"

"John? Is that you? What did I hear about a boyfriend? What's going on?"

He let out a sigh pulling the phone away from his ear, glancing at it as his mom continued, and the replacing it against his ear.

"I. . .I'm. . ."

"Don't tell me you are dating the boy upstairs? And sense when were you gay? You know how we feel about that."

"Mum. . ."

"No, no John just stop there. How could you date a boy? Especially him of all people? Oh, we will talk about this when we get home in two months."

John went to speak but his mother hung up the phone. She sounded so angry and disgusted. What was he going to do? His parents would never let him stay with Sherlock.

He walked back out into the main room and found Sherlock alone on the couch again. He dragged himself over and gently layed himself down onfop of Sherlock, curling up against his supprisingly warm skin.

He couldn't help but feel butterflys as Sherlock's body tensed but soon relaxed.

"Sherlock," John began quietly, only recieving a grunt in reply.

"Let's run away."

"What?" He felt the boy shift slightly beneath him so he could look at him better. "John what's wrong?"

Tears seared his eyes as he met Sherlock's. "My parents heard what Mrs Hudson said about us being boyfriends and they sounded so disgusted. They won't let me stay with you. We have to go."

John thought at first by the look on Sherlock's face that he was going to say no, but his features softened.

"I'll figure something out," Sherlock said sweetly, ruffling John's hair. "Get the things you need. We'll leave tonight."


	15. Running

John kept his eyes outside the passenger window, watching the glittering night sky slip by, the moon like a pearl hung by the stars. It was beautiful. But not as beautiful as the ocean, intently set on the road, sparkling in the moonlight.

They had left quickly the moment after Mrs Hudson had fallen asleep. Sherlock took a car that had been purchased on his sixteenth birthday and John quickly dumped all their baggage into the trunk and back seat. They had clothes, money, food and a few books, pictures and other odds and ends.

John was afraid at first. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, but the look set on Sherlock's face settled it. He seemed so calm and collected, not a care in the world. Yet this was how he was naturally, but that did not sway the comfort John was provided.

They had been driving for about four hours in a calm silence only disturbed by idle talk. John had no idea where they were going but he did not care. He only hoped that it would be a nice place where he could crack open the treasure trove that was Sherlock, an finally understand the boy he loved.

After two more hours Sherlock finally stopped the car. John opened his sleepy eyes and found themselves in the middle of the woods, an abandoned cabin before them.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and turned to Sherlock who had a faint smile played across his lips.

"We're here John." His voice was soft and quiet and he soon exited the car and grabbed a few bags out of the trunk.

John grabbed a few bags as well and quickly followed behind Sherlock and into the cabin.When he entered he was shocked.

In the main area there was a huge kitchen with marble counter tops, and L shaped couch and a love seat around a coffee table and a brick fire place. There were gorgeous Persian rugs draped across the floor and a wooden table and chairs.

"How did you get a place like this?" John questioned in disbelief.

"It's Cassandra's. She needs her own space a lot and this is where she spends most of her time. No one comes here but her and she agreed to let us stay." John felt uneasy that someone knew where they were. Sherlock quickly read his face and smiled.

"Don't worry. As much as I hate to say it we can trust her in this situation. She knows how to keep in contact without being caught and will be bringing us things when we desperately need them."

John was still uneasy and went stiff when Sherlock embraced him.

"Go pick the room you want John. I'll get the rest of the bags out of the car."

John nodded and made his way down a hall towards the back of the house. There was two bathrooms, one full and one half, two master bedrooms and stairs that led up to a loft, He looked over the two bedrooms quickly. One had the same hardwood floors as the rest of the house, while the other had cream colored carpetting. Both were fitted with a king size bed, a dressed and closet and lamps.

He made up his mind and made his way back to Sherlock in the main area, and found him on the phone.

"You promise?" Sherlock sounded angry but scared. Who was he talking to?

"Alright. Ok. Bye." He hung up the phone and turned to John. "There was a tracker on the car. Mycroft knows where we are too but he agreed that it was maybe for the best and promised to keep it a secret." Sherlock frowned slightly as John didn't speak. "Did you choose a room?"

"I want the carpeted one," John replied softly. "But I want you to stay with me." He watched as the pale boys eyes widened and then softened a bit. 

"Alright," he said quietly. "We should sleep. I have plans for us tomorrow."

John smiled and went to the bedroom to change into his pajamas. He had just taken off his shirt when he felt strong hands rub down his arms. Turning his eyes he found Sherlock behind him, looking him over ever so slightly. John had to repress a yelp of shock as he felt soft lips at the base of his neck.

"S-Sherlock. . . " the boys eyes widened again as he backed away from John, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," he stated quietly. "I won't be to bed for a while. So you should rest." John watched Sherlock leave the room in a hurry. He let out a quiet sigh and slipped into his pajama pants and a white t-shirt, For a moment he waited at the door of the bedroom hoping Sherlock would return but he had no luck. Not even a noise hinted at the presence of Sherlock so he gave up.

John wiggled his body under the soft, poofy comforter on the bed. He fell into a warm sleep but was disturbed multiple times by nightmares of fire. Nightmares of a broken family and a forgotten love, but what any of it meant he did not know, and that was the most horrifying part.


	16. Accident

It had been a month sence the two boys had run off together. It was not all that John had hoped it would be. Sherlock was still reserved, hardly ever slept, and when he did it was only because he passed out on the couch, he never ate and spent most of his time on experiments.

However, every now and then he would snuggle into bed against John, wrapping his arms around the boy tightly. These times were John's favorite, but they did not happen often.

John was sitting on the front porch, a blanket around his shoulders and a warm cup of tea in his hands. He was waiting for Cassandra to be dropped off by Mycroft for a while so she could do all the things neither of the boys felt inclined to do. It was also a break from a one sided life that was supposed to change everything.

He looked down at his watch and sighed. She was late. REALLY late.

Finally, about an hour later, the familiar black vehicle made it's way towards the cabin. John stood up and waved as it parked out front and both Holmes children got out, but he felt his stomach sink. There was a metal boot on Cassandra's one leg and she limped, clearly in a lot of pain. There were also fresh bruises up and down her arms, even on her face. There was even bruises on Mycroft too. While not as many they were still clearly there.

"W-What happened to you two?" John asked, his voice cracking.

Cassandra gave a weak smile and looked at him.

"Everyone found out we were hiding you. I-"

"It's my fault," Mycroft cut in. "My father said he wouldn't stop hurting her unless we said something. I wasn't going to say a thing but then. . .He broke her leg and I gave in."

John felt like crying. These two were going through so much to give him what he wanted even though it was still all the same.

"We are coming back with you," he stated firmly, but Cassandra only shook her head.

"No you are not," she handed him the bags of food and supplies out of the trunk. "You are both staying here. I'm sorry I said I would stay but we need to be getting back." Cassandra embraced John tightly before getting back in the vehicle and driving off.

John let tears escape his eyes as he made his way back into the cabin. He felt as if he was in prison. This wasn't what he wanted.

He set the bags down in the kitchen and slumped to the floor, trying to sob as silently as possible. He knew that was impossible though, especially when in the same house as Sherlock Holmes.

As he expected he was around and into the kitchen in a matter of seconds, eying John with worry.

"John?"

"I want to go back Sherlock," he sobbed. The boy looked hurt.

"But. . .Why?"

"There are people getting hurt to keep us here."

"That was there choice. They-"

"No Sherlock! Just stop! Their pain is not worth it! Living here is no different then when you lived in the flat above me an I didn't know you! This isn't working!"

John watched the ocean go still. No waves. No tides. No movement. Sherlock and the oceans were still for so long that John flinched when Sherlock moved, a ripple in the ocean that sent salty water over the edge of Sherlock's eyelids.

John stayed put on the kitchen floor as he listened to the sounds of bags moving and the front door opening and closing. His heart sank even deeper when he heard the engine of a car and a loud horn.

They drove in complete silence. The oceans were still once more and Sherlock seemed paler than usual. John wanted to say something. Anything. But he was so frustrated and confused. His expectations had been so high. Sherlock wasn't made to meet them.

When they arrived back into the familiar, crowded streets of London a sense of uneasieness set on the car. Sherlock pulled up to 221B and let John out of the car.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" John finally managed.

Sherlock's frozen eyes graced over him slowly. They had become a very dull grey. The oceans had dissapeared. Without a word of reply Sherlock put the car in gear and drove off.

John had a bad feeling but chose to ignore it as he entered the flat. Before he could even take it all in Mrs Hudson had her arms around the boy in moments, tears trickling down her face.

"They told me what happened and I thought it was for the best but I was so worried about you dears," she exasperated, but soon stopped. "Where's Sherlock?"

John only shrugged and went to go into his flat, but was stopped by the old lady once more.

"Your parents called a few times. They were worried. Perhaps you should call them."

"Maybe later," he mumbled in reply. "I'm sleepy."

Hours later John was awoken by crys and hushed worried words. He could make out the sound of Mrs Hudsonms sobs and the sound of Cassandra's boot against the floor. Rushing out to the hall he found Cassandra assisting Mrs Holmes with a few bags and Mycroft awkwardly trying to comfort the land lady.

"John!" He turned in Cassandra's direction as she yelled his name.

"What's going on?"

Everyone froze and gave eachother an odd look. 

"The rest of you get in the car and go," Cassandra began. "I'll be there soon."

John watched the others file out, leaving him and Cassandra alone in the hall.

"What's going on?" he asked once again.

Cassandra's eyes saddened.

"Sherlock wrecked the car," she wispered.

"What type of car hit him?!" John panicked. He bet it was probably a drunk driver.

"No John," Cassandra put her hands on his shoulders. "HE wrecked the car." John's heary shattered. "He took a bunch of heroin and drove it off the bridge. He tried killing himself."

John's knees slowly gave out and he sank to the floor. He couldn't breath. His hearth was racing, lungs failing. His mind was filled with so many thoughts and he just wanted to scream.

He blamed himself. Who else could he blame? It was all his fault. His fault alone.


	17. Machine

It had felt like ages since John had entered the hospital. He had not heard a word on Sherlock and he was not aloud to see him. The fear and anxiety were eating away at him, causing his hands to shake wildly.

He felt some form of relief when he saw Cassandra and Jim walking up to him. Cassandra's face was stained with tears and to his suprise Jim even looked a bit down. John scooted over on the bench, giving the two more room as they joined him in the dreadful silence.

"How is he?" John finally whispered. He watched as Cassandra just shook her head fighting back the new onslaught of tears.

"Both legs are broken, his right arms was dislocated, most of the bones in his fingers are either shattered or cracked slightly, a piece of metal went into his side and he has a severe concussion." John felt his heart sink as every word left Cassandra's lips. "Luckily none of his organs were damaged from the heroine," she added slowly.

The three returned to silence and it seemed to drag on for hours. 

John was left with his head and all the blame and guilt building up inside it. He blamed himself. If his expectations hadn't been so high and he hadn't expected Sherlock to meet them none of this would have happened. They would be at the cabin or the flat, wrapped in eachothers arms, watching eachother in silence. But instead they were here. The welcoming thought of the ocean was gone and John was only left with darkness and uncertainty.

After almost five hours a nurse came out and gave John permission to go in and see Sherlock. He hesistated. The idea of Sherlock all banged up and connected to so many wires was heart breaking, but he had to go in.

He made his way to the hospital room slowly. His feet felt as if they were made of lead and the floor was quicksand. Slowly, he pushed the door open and felt every fiber of happieness and hope burn up in seconds. His eyes crossed Sherlock's broken body heavily.

He had a bandage, stained crimson, wrapped around his head. His legs wrapped up so much that they looked as if they belonged to a giant. The wires and tubes making Sherlock look as if her was a cyborg being programmed with all the information in the world. This wasn't Sherlock. This was a illusion. He wasn't in that body. He was somewhere else.

John made his way to the side of the bed and pulled up a stool, looking down upon Sherlock's broken face. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. John couldn't handle the sight. He felt as if he was a young child who's puppy had just been struck by a car, and even though the blood covered the street he refused to believe it was his dog.

He was about to get up and leave when Sherlock's eyes opened. He saw, not the ocean, but a deep, dark, calm lake that looked up at him.

"Hey there Sherlock," John choked out. He couldn't handle the dead look of Sherlock's face. 

At first he didn't expect a response, but was shocked when Sherlock took a deep breath and began to speak.

"H-Hello, John. Who all. . .Is h-here?"

"Your mother and father, Mycroft, Cassandra, Mrs Hudson and Jim Moriarty."

Sherlock let out the best form of a scoffing noise he could with the breathing mask on his face.

"What's Cassandra d-doing here? . . She hates hospitals."

"You attempted suicide Sherlock! Of course Cassandra is going to be here! You're her brother!"

"My family holds no sibling compassion."

John was stunned into silence. He felt his sorrow and guilt flow out and replaced my anger and frustration.

"Do you not understand how normal people feel at all? Do you not understand the impact of what you did?"

"Cassandra and Mycroft don't feel they are part of the Holmes family. Mrs Hudson and mummy are over emotional and father probably is dissapointed that I didn't die." Sherlock rolled his eyes before a coughing fit over took him. When it ended he grimaced in pain and turned to fiddle with his morphine taps.

"Do you not undersand the pain you caused, you machine. . .Saud this," and with that John got up and left Sherlock to his own little world were no one cared and no one ever should.

He returned to the others in the lobby just as Cassandra and Jim were leaving.

"We are going home to get some rest. Want to go?" Cassandra tried her best to give John a warm smile but her face crumbled. She wasn't going to be alright for a long time.

He responded with a nod as they made their way to the car. Jim was old enough to drive so he climbed into the drivers seat as John entered the back and Cassandra got in on the passenger side. John watched out the window as lights and buildings passed by in a blur as the rain tapped and glistened on the window. He listened to the faint sound of the music from the radio.

'She's in a long black coat tonight  
Waiting for me in the downpour outside  
She's crying baby come home in a melody of tears,  
While the rhythm if the rain keep time'

John took in every word and somehow related the lyrics to him and Sherlock. Minus the fact that they were both boys he felt as if he was standing in the rain yelling at Sherlock through a wall to let him in but never won. He just stood outside the wall crying and yelling while freezing, and the only help he got was from the few odd people around to suffer through it all with him. He felt as if he was in love with a machine, and for now that's all Sherlock was to him. 

A machine.


	18. Glass

The weeks that followed were dull and full of tears. People cycled in and out of the hospital, visiting Sherlock and talking to his family. But John was permanent. The only time he left was the one night Jim and Cassandra took him home. Everytime he went in to speak to Sherlock it was the same battle.

Siblings don't really care.

They are just acting.

No one cares.

John please do stop crying.

Always the same routine that by the end had John storming out of Sherlock's hospital room.

But, finally, six weeks later Sherlock was finally aloud to leave. Everyone wanted to keep an eye on him but he swore that if anyone dare stay in his flat with him he would use a gun next time he wanted to be gone. John was lucky he was even permitted to be in the same taxi.

They rode through the streets in silence, Sherlock never once turning to look at John. It worried him. Not even the slightest action could grab hold of Sherlock's attention, so out of fear of what was becoming of them John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He turned quickly in response and his eyes were like glass, not giving off any sense of emotion or thought, but soon John watched it crumble. It was only cracks at first and small pieces began to fall, but in not to long it just shattered and water spilled out.

John didn't know how to react or feel but was relieved when Sherlock scooted close and burried his face in John's chest, grabbing a hand full of his shirt and he sobbed and shook. He gently rapped his arms around Sherlock's shaking form and tried hushing him into a calm state.

"I'm. . .So sorry, John." He was not sure he heard Sherlock's words correctly.

"W-What was that?"

"Oh, you heard me John. . .Don't make me say it again."

John slowly met Sherlock's eyes and watched as the glass slowly reformed and Sherlock's tears stopped.

"I'm sorry John," he slowly repeated, his voice just below a whisper. 

John smiled in reply and placed a kiss on Sherlock's cheek just as the cab came to a stop. John paid the cabby and followed Sherlock out and into the flat. It was late and both boys were exhausted.

"I should be going to sleep Sherlock. Will you be alright? Sherlock nodded in reply but just as John turned to leave he grabbed his hand and dragged him back into his bedroom.

"S-Sherlock," John began but was cut off by soft lips against his own. He could feel his face heating up when Sherlock pulled away.

"I'll only be okay if you stay with me tonight." John was shocked but his heart fluttered and he nodded. 

After both boys changed into comfotable clothes they crawled into bed. Their fingers lacing together and their legs intertwined as they pulled eachother closer. For a long time they gazed into eachothers eyes, but John was slightly dissapointed. The ocean wasn't there anymore. Just glass. No spark of thought or intrigue. No curiosity. Just glass. The thought of the change in Sherlock's eyes brought him to another matter.

"Sherlock?" He began softly as if not wanting to disturb the peace to much.

"Yes John?"

John hesitated. Not wanting to ruin things again or send them off in a downwards spiral.

"Why'd you do it?" John didn't need to say anymore, it was clear that Sherlock understood. He moved slightly and uneasily, blowing a curl out of his eyes and trying to avoid eye contact, but soon he gave in and locked eyes with John.

"I thought I wasn't enough for you. And if I wasn't enough for you then there was no possible way I was enough for anyone else. My intellect can't help me with situations such as these because they are so foreign to me. You seemed so angry and dissapointed. I felt," he paused for a moment, lowering his gaze to his fingers intertwined with John's before resuming eye contact. "I felt as if I had failed you and your expectations and I'd never reach them. I was drugged up and confused and angry with myself. I-" But he was cut off by John's lips locking with his once again. He blinked in slight shock as John pulled away and smiled.

"I expected to much of you Sherlock. Don't blame yourself. Just, promise me you won't do it again." Sherlock nodded in reply and smiled before letting out a low yawn.

John watched peacefully and felt his heart warm as he watched Sherlock fade into a deep calm sleep. His face was content and his breathing steady. John could feel his heart beating against their hands and it wasn't long before he joined him in the pleasant, sleep filled world.

________

John awoke the next morning to the smell of something burning. Before he completely acknowledged the scent he reached out for Sherlock and found he wasn't there. Finally taking full notice of the smell he jolted upright and stumbled out of bed and made his way to Sherlock's kitchen. 

The slight panic he felt melted as he watched Sherlock rushing around to put out the small kitchen fire. John tried containing a chuckle but failed and was soon laughing hysterically. Sherlock suddenly turned to face him and glared at him playfully. 

"It's not funny John," he stated in a false state of anger. John only continued to laugh. 

Sherlock slowly stepped closer as John continued to laugh and soon had John backed against the wall.

"John," he stated again, his voice deep with a slight rumble to it. John stopped laughing and felt his face heat up. He went to speak but soon he was lip locked and lost in a trance. He returned the kiss and tangled his fingers in Sherlock curly mop of hair. Not long after Sherlock's arms were encircling his waste and John was being dragged to the couch. John knew what was coming and part of him was excited. The other part was scared.

Piece by piece their clothes fell to the floor and John was gently laid down on the couch. Sherlock's lips traced a path all over John's body, earning a fews gasps and moans from John's lips. His body felt as if he had electricity jolting through him and he couldn't stand it. He was begging for it, not with his words, but just with the way he squirmed beneath Sherlock. But slowly he became unsure and Sherlock could sense it. He pulled back ever so slightly and smiled a dirty smile that soon become warm as he wispered," Someday." And with thar he placed a kiss on John's cheek and got up.

John, however, was frozen in place. Breathless. He didn't know why but he did know that he had never felt like that before. Sherlock made him feel different. Sherlock showed him a new type of battlefield and it was one he wanted to stay on forever.


	19. Rain

John awoke the same way he always had the past few days. His arms an legs entangled with Sherlock's and there faces only a few inches apart. A small smile graced his face as he watched Sherlock's calm, sleeping form. These moments were perfect but John couldn't help but feel that this was only the calm before the storm. He had the uneasy feeling that something big was coming and in only two weeks time John's parents were returning home.

He was pulled from these thoughts when he felt Sherlock move under his arm. His eyelids moved to reveal the calm glassy oceans beneath and the tides turned towards him. John slowly smiled and Sherlock quickly returned it before sitting up and stretching. They were still slowly waking up when a loud banging noise rang out through the flat. They gave eachother an odd glance before John got up and made his way to the door. 

He jumped back slightly when he was met by the shattered eyes of Cassandra. John was at a lost for words, stumbling over every thought.

"Cass, what's wrong?" John was saved by the appearance of Sherlock who's question aloud him to remain silent.

"It's mum and dad," she began slowly, trying to contain her tears. "Someone lit their house on fire. Mum is fine but dad was trapped under rubble and is in the hospital."

Everyone was still for a moment and it seemed so long that John turned to Sherlock and found him gone. He turned the other direction and found him pulling on a long black coat that matched his sisters and the scarf she had given to him. Before John even knew what was going on he found himself in a cab along with Sherlock and Cassandra. 

Silence was key to keeping the Holmes siblings so glass like. To much noise and they might crack and shatter.

Upon arival they were each enveloped in a warm hug from Mrs. Holmes. Cool tears touching their cheeks. Her words were jumbled, nothing more than a muddled mess and it took a few moments for Cassandra to calm her and lead them towards the hospital room.

John expected to find a ashen wounded man and felt sorrow for Sherlock, but when he turned to look at the pale boy he found him perfectly calm and collected. But once they entered the room they were treated to utter shock. 

Mr. Holmes was upright in bed a smile on his face as he had a happy conversation with the nurse. When he noticed the entrance of his family he turned and greated them warmly, practically jumping out of bed. He embraced Mrs Holmes and Cassandra in a hug but a suprised expression crossed his face when Sherlock grabbed his sister and pulled her back.

"Well hello to you Sherlock," he stated.

"Hello dad," Sherlock half spat. "What happened?"

"We were only sleeping when the alarms went off. We were not fast enough." Mrs. Holmes placed her hand gently on her husband's shoulder.

"I got out but your father was stuck. A wooden beam had fallen on top of him," she said softly. "I saw a boy outside but he was to far for me to notice anything."

There was an odd silence between them all. The smile on Mr Holmes' face slowly eating away at Sherlock and Cassandra's nerves.

"He just got hit on the head a little to hard," Cassandra stated flatly, turning towards the door. "He'll be back to his old self in a few days."

John watched as the two Holmes children made a quick escape leaving him alone with the odd parents.

"Sherlock is such a sweet boy." John felt his heart skip a beat at Sherlock's father's words. They urged him to swiftly follow after the others.

All the words and details of the Holmes family that came into view just confused John more. The parents were so open and thoughtful, but the children. . .They were so shut in and odd and confusing. Haunting and cold. John let out a low sigh as he gave up the thought. It only made his head hurt.

The three were silent the entire return cab ride. There was no eye contact. Even their breathing was shallow. 

John stood on the front steps as Cassandra left. No goodbye or acknowledgement. He could only imagine what was going through their heads. 

He turned on his heels and made his way up to Sherlock's flat and sighed. Only ten more days till his parents returned home. Before he could continue his thought of how to handle their return the door the flat was slammed shut and he was pinned to the wall.

John's eyes locked with Sherlock's and he saw the desire. He saw so much and soon their lips were locked. They were dancing. Fighting for entrance as their hands roamed. There clothes slowly fell to the floor but after a few moments Sherlock froze.

"S-Sherlock?" John was breathless. His body hear rising.

"Are you sure you want this John?" John flinched slightly. Sherlock was considering what he wanted? "I don't want to force you into this."

John was silent for a moment. He sensed Sherlock becoming uneasy and decided to relieve the tension by relocking their lips. The last of their clothes fell and Sherlock lifted John up, allowing John to wrap his legs around his waist. With their lips still locked Sherlock carried John to the bedroom, gently laying him down on the bed and stradling him. A dirty but soft smile crossed his face as he brought his lips down to John's earlobe and nibbling it.

"I'll be gentle," Sherlock wispered quietly, just as his hands begin to glide down John's body.


	20. Traitor

John's eyes shot open. He was sore and tired but so happy. His skin flushed when he felt his warm body pressed against another. Little did he know that Sherlock watched him intently as he looked over both of their bodies. When they soon locked eyes John felt electricity shoot through his body.

Sherlock chuckled and ran his finger tips gently against the inside of John's thigh.

"S-Sherlock," John felt his voice crack.

"Hush now," Sherlock whispered before pressing his lips to John's. They danced slowly and Sherlock's hands once more wandered, John's fingers emtagling in his hair. 

Sherlock began kissing and biting down to John's neck earning small moans and growls from John's lips.

They would have continued but an embarassed yelp stopped them. They turned to find Cassandra standing in the doorway.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'll just," her face was as red as a tomato and she quickly exited.

Sherlock sighed and muttered something under his breath and got up, quickly getting dressed. John soon followed and they walked out to find Cassandra staring out the window into the street.

"You could learn to knock sister dear," Sherlock spat.

"It was important," she retorted.

"What could be more-"

"They got a lead on who lit the house on fire."

Sherlock's eyes widened and a smirk grew on his face.

"We getting involved?"

"Oh hell yeah."

Both sibling walked to the door and dawned on their black trench coats.

"Come along John," Sherlock called and he followed them to a cab.

John didn't understand what was going on or why the two seemed so excited but he became even more curious when they arrived at a wearhouse. About a dozen police men and for some odd reason two marines stood in wait.

Upon exiting the car the air changed to a sense of professionalism.

Cassandra parted to the marines and John followed behind Sherlock to the cops. 

"Hello Mr. Holmes. Good to see you."

He ignored the officer and went straight to the point.

"Only my sister, John and I go in. No one interfere unless I say so."

"Mr Holmes you don't have the authority to make that call."

"Do you want our help or not?" And with that Sherlock turned and made his way to his sister. 

John watched as one of the soldiers handed Cassandra a silenced sniper rifle.

"The rounds are concussive only. Can't kill the man unless you use your deadly accuracy."

"I'll try not to," she replied with a smirk and turned to Sherlock. Her eyes were glittering an John saw her hands twitching with excitement. "Ready?"

Sherlock returned her smirk and nodded and almost instantaneously they rushed off towards the building.

Cassandra took up a high position ontop of some crates, setting up her stand and rifle.

Sherlock and John walked deeper into the shadows listening for any signs of another presence.

"Well, well, look what we have here."

They both froze as the sound of gun echoed out. It wasn't Cassandra. It was the familiar boy before them. Slicked back black hair and devilish brown eyes.

"James Moriarty?" John hadn't even realized he was the one speaking till he felt the last vibrations on his lips.

"The one and only. I figured they'd get you and your sister involved Sherlock. Only you made a mistake bringing her here."

Before a question could form a red dot danced between Sherlock and John.

"I'm sorry but now that you know it's me you can't be allowed to continue. Take them out kitten."

"They are only concussive rounds," John stated quickly.

Jim smirked. "Not with her accuracy. Shoot kitten."

John shut his eyes as tight as possible.

"Cassandra don't!" Sherlock screamed.

"DO IT!"

There was silence and then the quiet popping sound of a silenced rifle.


	21. Help

John's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He waited for a wave of pain to wash over him, or to hear Sherlock cry put. He never did. Insteas, there was a loud clattering noise, signaling John to open his eyes.

When he did he saw Cassandra standing on top of the crate she had been placed. Blood oozing from her shoulder as she jumped down to the ground, Moriarty assisting her. Her gun lay on the ground, blood spattered on the shiny surface.

Turning John saw one of the police officers, his gun raised in her direction.

"Put your hands up," he barked, but Moriarty only smirked in reply.

Swiftly he grabbed Cassandra's hand and ran from the building out into the streets. Before anyone even attempted to pursue them there was a loud squeeling of tires, making it obvious there was no point in following.

John turned his eyes to Sherlock, who's face was riddled with shock, but still held it's cold, almost expresionless state.

"Sherlock?" John gently placed his hand upon his shoulder, making him jump.

"Let's get out of here John," he stated flatly, before turning an wandering outside to hail a cab.

The ride back to Baker St was quiet, both boys confused about what had just happened. Cassandra. The girl who had been there for them through everything. The only Holmes who seemed to have any sort of caring nature in the world. Was she put up to it? Or was everything, just like her happieness, a facade? John just couldn't wrap his head around it.

They entered Baker St. still never speaking a word. John wanted so desperately to talk to Sherlock, but he couldn't grasp how Sherlock would handle the situation. Would he be mad and start yelling? Would he break under the pressure? Or would he just remain as emotionless as ever?

It wasn't until later that night when they were sitting together and watching the news that John figured out how Sherlock felt.

"Fifteen year old Cassandra Moran Holmes was shot today during a crime bust on the suspect who set fire to her parents home. Moran was said to have turned against the authorities and was shot in-"

It was cut short when Sherlock let out a growl and threw the remote at the television, shattering the screen, letting pieces of glass fall to the floor. Tears powered from his emotionless eyes, and John watched on, afraid to utter a word.

However, he was suprised when Sherlock crumbled into his lap sobbing and yelling. John couldn't understand a word the boy was saying, and went on to sooth him. Running his hand up and down the broken boys back, and kissing the top of his head.

"I finally started to trust her again," was all Sherlock said before returning to broken sobs.

\----------

John awoke the next morning, Sherlock curled up against his chest. He smiled sadly and kissed the top of Sherlock's head before allowing himself a moment to think. That's when he realized.

His parents returned home in six days.

John began to panic. What was he going to do when his parents discovered he was caught up in all of this? He tried so desperately to remain calm, but he just couldn't. He needed help. Slowly he slipped out from under Sherlock, trying his best not to disturb the boy, and then went on to pull on his jacket before entering the chilled London streets.

He had to find her. He had to find Cassandra. She was the only one who could, and would, help, he knew that as a fact.

But where to begin?

He ran place after place through his mind. Location after location. Cafés, drug dens, houses, school. . . Then he thought of the correct place. "Borrowing" Sherlock's car he drove off, exiting the bustling streets of London and heading to the remote country side.

Six hours later he pulled up infront of that familiar cabin. The cabin where he realized his relationship was not as strong as he had hoped. Where he spent many lonely nights in bed. 

Exiting the car he entered the cabin and found little Cassandra curled up on the L shaped couch, fast asleep.

While he wanted answers as soon as possible he chose not to wake her, and sat down beside her. However, it wasn't long until she shifted and   
awoke.

At first it didn't seem that she processed that John was before her, but when she did she jumped back in shock and fear and winced when her arms jerked, blood splotching her shirt.

"W-Why are you here John?" She questioned in a slight sense of fear.

"I need your help," he glanced at the blood seeping through her shirt. "And it looks like you need my help as well. Shirt off.

"But. . .John. . ."

"Off."

Cassandra sighed and removed her t-shirt, leaving herself in just a sports bra. John scooted closer and looked at the poorly bandaged wound. After removing the wrap and gauze he looked upon the oozing, bloody bullet wound and gasped slightly.

"Wait here a moment," he stated firmly, walking off to the bathroom and grabbing up some supplies.

Once he returned he gave her an apologetic look. 

"This is going to hurt," he sated swiftly before spraying disinfectent on the wound.

For a moment Cassandra was able to repress the scream that tried to escape, but eventually she faltered and her ear splitting screams filled the air.

John continued working anyways, taking a rag and wiping off the dry blood before pulling out a needle and stitches.

"I have to do this or it could become infected. Now hold still."

Cassandra bit her tongue and dug her finger nails into the couch as John dragged the needle through her skin, stitching the wound shut. 

When it was all said and done Cassandra's shoulder was much better and John rinsed the blood from her hands.

"Now you need to help me." John practically demanded.

"With what?" 

"My parents come home this week and-"

"And you don't know how to handle your little Sherlock issue," a slight smirk twitched onto her face but quickly faded.

John just nodded, tears escaping his eyes.

"Don't worry. I've got it handled," She urged him out of the Cabin.

"What are you-," Cassandra slammed the door in his face.

Letting out a frustrated sigh John rentered the car and drove back into London, not knowing what to expect in the days to come.


	22. Things We Lost In The Fire

John arrived back at the flat and was greeted by the sound of raised voices. He hesitated outside the door, knowing what was on the other side. With one last deep breath he pushed open the door, but what he saw was the opposite of what he expected.

Sitting on the bottom stairs was Cassandra. They locked eyes and neither of them spoke a word.

"This is highly inapropriate! I should report your boy for harassment!"

John's eyes glanced up the stairs and the returned to Cassandra.

"Do I even want to know?" John asked quietly.

A sad smirk crossed Cassandra's face before she got to her feet and ascended the stairs. John followed closely behind.

"Do they know you are here?" John inquired.

"They don't know either of us are here," she mumbled in reply.

Slowly she pushed the door open and the voices fell silent. When they entered the room John couldn't help but feel all eyes on him. His mother and father looked furious, sickened to their core. Mrs Holmes looked at John and Cassandra, eyes full of pity and sorrow. And then There was Mycroft, cold collected, but sorrow lingered in his threatening eyes. For a moment John found no sign of Sherlock until he saw a heap with wild curly hair in the corner of the room.

"Did you guys hit him?" John mumbled.

"What was that you little-"

"DID YOU HIT HIM?!" John's word came out with a hiss, cutting off his fathers insult.

When no reply came John made his way over to Sherlock's side. Slowly he placed his hand upon Sherlock's shoulder, causing him to jump and look at John in fear. John looked upon the small gash by his eye as a deep blue ring formed around it.

"I'm so sorry John," his voice was no more than a whisper and was hoarse. "I didn't want any of this."

John's mind was clouded with sorrow and he quickly embraced Sherlock. He turned his eyes to Cassandra who was standing in the doorway, eyes stinging with oncoming tears. She said she would help. How was she going to help?

John's parents were upon him in seconds, prying him away from Sherlock's trembling body. John screamed and fought back as hard as he could, but his father had once been a soldier and had no issues dragging John from the flat.

Sherlock was left cowering in the corner, Cassandra slowly taking her place by his side.

"It's alright Sherlock," she whispered. "I'll fix this"

\----------

John sat on his bed, knees hugged to his chest. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks tear stained. He had listened to the footsteps of Sherlock and Cassandra and the quiet sobs of Mrs. Holmes that fell through the air vents. Cassandra said she would help. So what was she doing?

John heard his parents voices raise. They had been arguing about what to do ever since they had gotten back to their own flat. Slowly the voices moved away and he heard them exit the flat and the sound of car doors slamming. Slowly he made his way out to the kitchen just as Cassandra came down the stairs. She stopped and looked at him For a moment, but tore her eyes away when her mother came down the stairs. Mrs. Holmes gave John one sad look as well before breaking into strained sobs and exiting the flat with Cassandra by her side.

John stood in silence, patiently waiting. When all seemed clear John broke into a sprint and went up to Sherlock's flat. Slowly he pushed open the door to find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, arm dangling limply over the side, heroin needle on the table. Tears threatened to spill from John's eyes but he held them back, and made his way to Sherlock's side.

Sinking down on the edge of the couch, John placed his hand on Sherlock's cold milky face. His eyes were closed, giving John a good view of the giant bruise that was growing and deepening in color on the right side of his face. He brushed a curl from over Sherlock's eye, this caused him to shift and his eyes slowly opened.

"John," Sherlock's whisper was broken and sad.

"Hello Sherlock," John gave a weak smile.

"If anyone sees you are up here you'll-," John cut off Sherlock's words by placing a kiss on his forehead.

"I don't care Sherlock," John's smile grew a bit. "I don't care. I love you Sherlock."

Some of the sadness emptied from Sherlock's eyes and a little warmth creeped into them. They both jumped slightly when Sherlock's phone made a sharp chirping noise. Picking it up John saw it was from Mycroft.

"Who is it?" Sherlock questioned, slowly sitting up.

"Mycroft. He asked if you could meet him outside in a few minutes. He has something for you."

Sherlock nodded, expressing his acknowledgement and agreeing to do so. 

They both remained silent, unsure of what to do. Sherlock rested his head upon John's shoulder. John could feel him shaking.

Sherlock stood upright when a loud honk from a car horn pierced the silence. Without a single notion to John he exited the flat. He thumped down the stairs and shakily made his way out to Mycroft. 

"Back to the source?" Mycroft questioned scornfully. "I have a letter for you."

Sherlock took it from his hands and just as he did a explosion rumbled the ground. Turning they witnessed 221 Baker St. consumed by flames.

Sherlock's eyes widened. Everything went into slow motion and Sherlock tried to call John's name but failed. He crumbled to the ground. It seemed to be only seconds before the medics and firetrucks arived.

John was pulled from the flames, unconscious but only with minor burns. A beam had fallen on top of him, pinning him down. He was quickly loaded into the ambulance and drove off. Sherlock watched on for a moment before climbing into Mycroft's car.

From the rooftops across the street Cassandra removed her eye from the scope. Finding the bomb and locking on to the target wasn't the hard part. The hard part was pulling the trigger and watching the gasoline mix with the blame. Two targets. One bullet.

"Good job, Moran," Jim purred into the ear piece. "You best get out of there.

"My name is Cassandra," she snapped.

"For now kitten."

\----------

Sherlock stood outside John's hospital room. Tears staining his cheeks as they poured from him eyes. The verdict had been given.

John had amnesia, and the doctors said he would never remember anything he had forgotten. A beam had fallen and smacked John in the skull. And now they were here.

He had panicked when Sherlock entered the room, telling him to go away and making disgusted remarks when Sherlock said he was his boyfriend. John had forgotten him, and he would never remember him.

John's parents had chosen to move out to the country side again. Determined to get John away from the mess. Mycroft was shipping Cassandra off to America for reasons Sherlock couldn't know. Sherlock was now very much alone, and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

His mother exited John's hospital room and gave Sherlock a sad look. Slowly the embraced, something that had never occured between them. She rubbed his back before pulling away.

"Come on," she began quietly. "Let's go see your sister off." She began walking away.

Sherlock gave one last glance to the door that stood between him and his forgotten lover. That was something he would never know again. Slowly he turned and began walking away, and with every step the amount of tears flowing from his eyes increased, until he collapsed to his knees and the ocean turned into a waterfall.


	23. Epilogue

"You couldn't have gotten all that from just the smell of the room Sherlock. That is bloody impossible," Lestrade called after Sherlock as he exited the murder victims flat. 

He pursued a tall lanky man, skin a milky white. His deep blue eyes cold with a red fleck in his right eye. Auburn curls messy atop his head.

"Please don't doubt my skill inspector I find it quite loathesome," Sherlock sighed. His voice deep and raspy. He lifted his eyes slightly and froze in place, sadness filling his heart.

He would recognize that short stature and sandy blond hair anywhere. The man was approaching slowly and Sherlock didn't move. The man became confused when Sherlock's eyes did not leave him.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked Sherlock slowly.

"No," Sherlock replied softly. 

The man licked his lips anxiously before nodding and walking off. Lestrade came up behind Sherlock and gave him an odd look.

"Did you know that man Sherlock?"

"Just a ghost from the past, Lestrade. Nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the end. . . Well, for now. There will be a sequel eventually called "I'd Be Lost Without My Blogger" but I have many more fics to finish first.
> 
> So thank you! Hope you enjoyed! ~ <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a finished work I am transferring from my Wattpad bit by bit. So it will all be up within a day or two.


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